


Hobmoss the Friendly Tree

by Highlander



Category: Magic: The Gathering
Genre: Gen, Why yes his name IS a reference to Bob Ross, thank you for noticing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-05
Updated: 2019-04-05
Packaged: 2020-01-05 07:11:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,669
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18361151
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Highlander/pseuds/Highlander
Summary: Hobmoss the treefolk is living a happy life on his home plane, until he is suddenly excluded from the Chorus of the Grove. When the despair and loneliness he feels causes his planeswalker spark to ignite, he ends up carried to a far away plane where he ends up making exactly the friend he needed to.





	Hobmoss the Friendly Tree

A new day was dawning on the world, and the Chorus was already singing. Because of course it was.

 

The Chorus of the Grove never stopped singing.

 

The song of the Grove was the Song of Life itself. The song of growth and expansion, of light and warmth. And most of all, of unity. Soon the whole of the world would join the Chorus and know the peace of being at one with all things.

 

But there was something off about today. A strange note in the song that didn’t match the tone of all the other voices.

 

 _‘Why such discord?’_ the Chorus asked of itself, and a small part responded

 

_‘It is not discord, but harmony. Many different voices working together can make much more beautiful music than a single voice repeated over and over.’_

 

The Chorus found itself unmoved by this explanation, but in the time the lone voice had taken to respond, the rest of the Chorus had found its source. A single treefolk, small, and still young enough to believe strange ideas like “harmony” might be of use to the Chorus, as if the Chorus was not already in possession of all the answers.

 

 _‘But surely unity in all things is the Truest Beauty. That is why the Chorus of the Grove exists’_ The majority of the Chorus declared to itself, and the majority of the Chorus agreed.

 

 _‘Unity is indeed beautiful, but perhaps not all things must be uniform and identical?’_ the lone voice spoke out again, sealing its fate.

 

The Chorus had given the lone voice a chance. Had it simply agreed that unity was the Truest Beauty without comment, and forgotten its silly ideas of “harmony”, it would have been accepted back into the fold. As it was, the Grove could not tolerate Dissenters. The Dissonant Voice would need to be Pruned before its sickness poisoned other branches. At once each branch in the Grove (except for the lone voice who suspected nothing) reached out toward the Dissenter. It was easy because every voice in the Chorus was constantly being embraced by the others. But instead of gripping the Dissenter tight as was usual, each branch simply... pushed...

 

The young treefolk was so surprised by the sudden silence that he uprooted himself in his panic. The sound of his own fall was all he could hear as he crashed to the ground, and that terrified him. He had known the comforting song of the Chorus for his whole life. It had never not been there. But now his world was almost deathly quiet, with only the sounds of his own frantic movements to be heard as he tried to right himself.

He’d barely ever had to move in his lifetime and he was out of practice.

Finally managing to stand upright again, he began to move through the forest. Slowly at first, but then gradually faster. Whenever he came across a dormant treefolk or an elf bent in supplication, or any other member of the chorus, he would try to rouse them and ask what had happened, and why he could no longer hear the music. But it was of no use. Their eyes and ears were all turned inward, towards the chorus, as his had once been. They would not hear or see him until he became a threat to it, and he would never threaten the Chorus. It was his home.

...

Or was it?

Sudden realization dawned on the young treefolk. He understood now. He had been Pruned. The Chorus must have decided his thoughts of harmony were dangerous, so he had been silenced and cast out.

This revelation was too much for the treefolk. He fell to his knees as the despair spread throughout the whole of him. He could never again hear the song of the Chorus. Never again feel the comforting presence of so many others who cared for him and wanted to see him grow tall and strong. Though the forest around him was full of life, he was truly alone for the first time since his seed had first sprouted.

He had never before needed his mouth to speak, but his sadness could not be contained any longer. Turning his face to the night sky, he let out a long, keening, lonely sound, like he knew the wolves of the world were wont to do.

And it was at that instant, that exact moment as his heart finally broke, that a strange light ignited within him.

He wasn’t in the forest anymore. He was falling. Through a strange place with no earth or sky, or even an up or down in which to place them. There were stars though. He could see them. Countless points of light against a strange background that wasn’t quite colorful but wasn’t quite dark either.

And then suddenly he wasn’t falling anymore. He was standing atop a hill. It was a strange hill though, because it wasn’t in the forest. In fact, it wasn’t anywhere near a forest. There were no trees, let alone other treefolk, anywhere that he could see. The world around him was simply grass and rolling hills for miles, except for a small brook that passed by the foot of his hill, and some sort of path that lead to a strange collection of large stony square shapes in the distance.

The treefolk had been distraught and now he was confused as well. He simply didn’t have the energy to deal with all his emotions anymore, so he planted his roots deep into the hill, and allowed himself to fall dormant.

***

            Almost no time at all had seemed to pass when the treefolk was roused by the sound of two nearby voices.

            “‘Ere now, that tree weren’t there yesterday, were it?” The first voice was loud, and grating.

            “Don’t think so” The second voice was low and resigned.

            “Couldn’t’ve been, think I’d’ve noticed a bluhmin great oak tree on the top of Brookhill if it were there afore today”.

            “So?”

            “So?? So ow’d it get ‘ere then, I’d like to know. Couldn’t just spring up overnight, and it’s not been growing there very long or someone’d’ve seen it afore now.”

            “Maybe it’s one of them walkin’ trees. From the tales.”

            “The tales for children you mean? T’ain’t no such thing as ‘walkin’ trees’ ya great bloody oaf.”

            The treefolk almost stood up to his full height and stepped toward the voices right then, if only to prove the first voice wrong. The treefolk’s eyes were still closed but he could imagine the owner of the first voice making quite a funny face at being proven so wrong at such an opportune moment. Instead, though, the treefolk stayed still, and listened, trying to learn as much as he could about this strange world he found himself in.

            “Well, ‘ow do _you_ reckon it got ‘ere then?” The second voice asked, a little defensively.

            “Err, well, it uh...it were probably the pranksters what done it, yeah?” The first voice answered, unsurely at first but seeming to build confidence as it went. “Yeah this is just the sort of nonsense they’d think is a right laugh. 'Ooh ey look at what we done! Tree on top your ‘ill, what you gonna do about it?!' Definitely the pranksters.”

            “Never known the pranksters to do even a bit of real work, even for a prank. Doubt they’d be willin’ to lump a tree that big all the way up to the top of Brookhill, dig up enough dirt to plant it, AND re-sod the ground afterword so’s there’s grass all around instead of turned earth.” the second voice observed.

            The First voice was silent at that, but eventually let out a noncommittal grunt. Then the sound of footsteps along that path told the treefolk that the owners of the voices were probably continuing on their journey.

            The treefolk took a moment to ponder the things the voices had discussed. Walking trees where fanciful tales in this place? How very strange.

            It occurred to the treefolk that wherever he was, it wasn’t anywhere near to his former home. Somehow, that made him feel even sadder and lonelier. If he’d had any kind of hope of rejoining the Chorus, it was certainly broken now.

            Struggling under the weight of his own despair, the treefolk once again let himself fall into dormancy.

***

            The next time he was pulled from his slumber it was because children were playing on him.

            He had never seen children before, and he still hadn’t seen children now, because if this really was a land with no treefolk, the last thing he wanted to do was open his eyes and scare the poor things. Instead he simply listened to them, and occasionally felt their weight as they climbed amongst his branches. They were joking and laughing. They were filled with a kind of energy that hadn’t been evident in the previous voices. The treefolk was aware about this fact of fleshy life. It started out vibrant and strong, and then eventually got weaker and weaker until it died. It all seemed much less sensible than the treefolk way of doing things, which was just to keep living as long as you had enough sunlight and water, and to become dormant when you didn’t.

            The children spent the whole day beneath (or among) his branches, and then returned the next day as well. It seemed he had become a popular attraction to the children, who were all from some place called “the village”. Over time, he began to enjoy their presence. Their company was certainly different from the embrace of the Chorus, and certainly their laughter was nothing compared to the Song of Life, but they were enjoyable all the same, and after being abandoned by the only family he’d ever known, the treefolk was happy simply to be appreciated, even if only as a piece of strange furniture to be climbed on or maneuvered around. He was sad that he couldn’t truly sing with the children the same way he’d sung with the Chorus, though.

            Then, one day, something strange happened. A child came to him alone, climbed into his branches, and then began to cry. The treefolk had been around long enough that it knew crying was a bad thing. Previously, there had always been other children around to deal with whatever had caused the crying, often by taking the sad individual home. But now there was only him, and he didn’t know what to do.

            So, he asked.

            “Why are you crying?” he asked the child, speaking aloud for the first time since he had wailed his grief into the night air, and the second time since he had sprouted.

            The child was currently curled up in one of the crooks of his branches, with their face pressed against their knees. They were so distraught they didn’t look up, or even seem to question the origin of the strange voice. “L-lindy Honeystream called me fat. And then Tommen Greenmeadow called me stupid. And then everyone else joined in and now everyone hates me, and I don’t have any friends”

            Though short and simple, the story broke the treefolk’s heart. He knew from his time in the presence of the children that, like him, one of the things they treasured most was the acceptance of their fellows. He also knew that “fat” and “stupid” were both things that this group deemed unacceptable.

            This child had been cast out for being different, just as he had. What’s more, this child, in their sadness, had come to him for solace. True, the child hadn’t known he was more than just an ordinary tree, but still. The treefolk felt a responsibility to the child. He wanted to make them feel happy again. So once again, he spoke.

            “I don’t hate you”, he said.

            “You-you don’t?” The child said, finally lifting their head. The treefolk could feel the shifting weight as the child began to sit up a little, probably searching his branches for the source of his voice.

            “No, I don’t. And I don’t have any friends either. If you like, I can be your friend.”

            The child had gotten up now and started climbing down. They seemed to have stopped crying, though the occasional sniffle was still in evidence. Once they reached the ground, the treefolk heard them say “Where are you?”

            In answer to the child’s question, the treefolk opened his eyes and unfolded himself to his full height. The child was so surprised at his sudden movement that they fell backward onto their bottom.

            “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you” the treefolk apologized, extending a single finger for the child to use as handhold with which to pull themselves to their feet.

            “It’s alright” the child said, their tone awed. “Are...are you one of the walking trees?”

            The treefolk was silent for a moment as he considered how he would answer. “You could say that.” Is what he decided to go with.

            “Wooooow” The child replied, their eyes alight with wonder.

            From that day forward, the treefolk and the child were “best friends” in the words of the child. The treefolk eventually learned the child was named Cait, and that she was a female of her species. When the treefolk admitted that he’d never needed a name, Cait gave him one. Cait decided the treefolk would be called “Hobmoss”, after the most famous “walking tree” from the tales. In general, the treefolk didn’t see much need for a name for himself, but the title of “Hobmoss” was a gift from his friend, so he’d treasure it forever.

            Over the coming years Cait and Hobmoss spent a great deal of time together. The incident with Lindy and Tommen that had spurred Cait’s retreat to Brookhill eventually blew over, as incidents between children often do, but the bond between the two new friends never wavered. Cait would often visit Hobmoss alone so that they could speak in secret. Cait would tell Hobmoss of what was happening in her life, and Hobmoss would offer support and, when asked, advice. Hobmoss wasn’t sure how helpful his advice could be given his limited experiences, but Cait seemed to enjoy hearing his perspective on things. Occasionally Cait would still run to Brookhill in tears and seek shelter in Hobmoss’ branches. Hobmoss would ask what was wrong, and Cait would pour out her heart to him. Often the problems would involve one or both of the infamous Lindy and Tommen. Hobmoss would offer comfort and affection and hope that was enough to ease Cait’s pain, because it seemed there was little else he could do. He couldn’t simply go into The Village and tell the other children to stop picking on Cait without causing an awful spectacle, and if he caused a spectacle he might not be able to stay at the top of Brookhill, which might mean never seeing his friend again.

            So instead he simply stayed, and waited, being as kind and dependable as Cait needed him to be.

            Until one day, a few years later.

            Hobmoss had been able to hear joyous sounds of celebration coming from the collection of stone squares (which he had long since learned was the oft mentioned Village) all day, but now as the sun dipped low on the horizon, the sounds were slowing down and coming to a lull, so it was quite obvious when the sound of shouting started coming his way.

            As the voices approached Hobmoss began to be able to identify the individuals using them. Most of the children (now young adults) who had once played around him were there, including Lindy and Tommen. They seemed to be jeering and shouting insults, and then with horror, Hobmoss recognized Cait’s voice mixed in with the others, begging, pleading with them to leave her alone.

            Hobmoss’ roots felt the vibrations caused by the feet of the crowd as Cait’s familiar weight suddenly found its way into his branches.

            “Wow, really, hiding in a tree? What are you, like, five?” Called the voice of Lindy.

            “We’ve still got plenty of food, those branches won’t make you that much harder to hit” Came the voice of Tommen soon after. And now Hobmoss understood why Cait had felt so strangely slick and had more trouble climbing than usual. She was covered in remains of fruit, eggs, and other such foodstuffs that must have been hurled at her.

            “Just go away! What have I ever done to you to deserve this?!” Cait cried as she desperately tried to climb even higher.

            “ _Just go away_ ” Tommen repeated in a mocking falsetto voice before hurling a tomato upward. It missed though, because Hobmoss blocked it with one of his branches, hoping that the sudden movement would be written off as the wind. There were only so many times he could do that though, and from the sounds of the mocking laughter and insults, the people here were ready to torment Cait for a good long while. Hobmoss wanted to help Cait if he could, but he also didn’t want to risk revealing himself to the world if it might mean never seeing his friend again.

            But then Cait spoke to him. Quietly. Whispering against his trunk as high up as she could climb.

            “Help me Hobmoss, please” She asked, and Hobmoss instantly knew he could never refuse such a request.

            The problem now was _how_ to help. He was much larger than the people gathered to harass Cait, so he could of course simply crush them all to death with a few swings of his heavy wooden arm. That idea was abhorrent, however, and Hobmoss didn’t think he could bring himself to do it unless Cait was in physical danger. He could always speak to them as he had spoken to Cait years ago, but he didn’t know how much good words would do in this context, even coming from one of the legendary “walking trees”. What he needed was some way to make sure that they really understood him. A way to help them know the kind of hurt they were inflicting on Cait. A way to bring them all together...

            So Hobmoss reached out, in the same way he had once reached out to the Chorus of the Grove.

            Despite the long years, trying to bring another being into the Chorus was still like planting himself in familiar soil. In a moment he had created a new chorus, here, on this foreign world.

            It... wasn’t a very good one though, honestly. Hobmoss and Cait were in perfect harmony with each other, which wasn’t surprising. But none of the other voices were harmonizing even amongst themselves, let alone with Hobmoss. There was something approaching the unity of melody that the old Chorus had valued so highly though. The various voices weren’t always in time with one another, and sometimes were in completely different octaves, but for the most part were singing along to a single tune. One that was defined by two powerful voices that, though off-key, sang out in perfect unison. Hobmoss was not surprised to find out that these guiding voices belonged to Lindy and Tommen.

            The sureness in their voices faltered somewhat however, once they fully realized they could feel the hearts and minds of those around them. Once they realized they could see a person’s entire life story stretched out as an enormous musical score. Once they realized that the music of their souls was so dreadfully sour and painful to hear. Suddenly all the other voices were scared and confused.

            It wasn’t Hobmoss’ intent to scare or confuse though, so he embraced them as the Chorus had once embraced him. He allowed the soothing sound of his song to wash over them, and then he gazed deeply into each one.

            ...and was shocked by what he saw.

 

            Hobmoss had thought that he and Cait were unique, two sad souls who felt unwanted and unloved that had found comfort in each other’s company. But now he found that all these young people felt that way. Every single one of them felt isolated and alone, terrified of being left out. That was why so many had so easily latched onto the idea of picking on Cait. Because it meant that that they themselves weren’t the ones being excluded, that they were part of the collective.

            Lindy and Tommen were different though. Though they too felt sad and alone, they had both been hurt in ways that the others hadn’t. Hobmoss couldn’t see the whole stories, but he caught flashes of violence and anger within Tommen, and hunger and jealousy within Lindy. They were in pain, and didn’t know how to make it stop, so they hurt others because it was all they could think to do.

            In the years since coming to Brookhill and becoming friends with Cait, Hobmoss’ heart had healed somewhat from the loss of the Chorus and the sadness Hobmoss had seen in Cait when they’d first met, but seeing that Cait’s anguish was simply one symptom of a much larger problem broke it again. He resolved that, if he could make things right, he would. For everyone.

            And so, he spoke to his new chorus.

_‘There is no need for all this hatred and spite. You all have worth and you are all capable of good. I see your pain and I know you think hurting others will ease it. I promise you it will not. The solution is love and understanding.’_

_‘Love?’_ questioned the voice of Cait, her song falling slightly out of harmony with Hobmoss’ own.

            Hobmoss then considered the sheer amount of abuse Cait had suffered at the hands of these people over the years. The pain they themselves had felt explained what they had done to Cait but did not excuse it.

_“We are all connected now in a way we have never been before, Cait. Look into their hearts. See their pain and allow them to see yours.”_

            And so Cait looked into the hearts of her tormentors as Hobmoss had, and they looked into her in turn. The sound of the chorus became subdued after that, as they all considered what they had seen. Quietly, gently, Hobmoss allowed the chorus to fade, until each of the former children were once again aware of their physical surroundings. From the patter of what felt like rain and the sound of heavy breathing, Hobmoss could tell that several of the bullies were crying.

            Slowly, Cait began to climb down. There was a moment of hesitation when re-entering food throwing range, but nothing seemed forth-coming, and so the descent continued. Once she had reached the ground, there was a time of silence before one of the bullies stepped from the crowd and apologized for the way they had treated Cait. Then another apologized, and another. Soon all but Lindy and Tommen had said their piece.

            Tommen was one of the ones that Hobmoss could tell was crying, and rather than apologize, he screamed. “I don’t know what kind of freak you are or what kind of magic you used to make me feel-SEE all of that, but it won’t work! I hate you! I hate all of you!” He shouted before turning and running down the road. A few members of the crowd called out to him as he ran, and one even followed him down the road, but most did nothing.

            Lindy, quivering with sadness, watched Tommen run for a moment before turning to Cait and saying “I am...so, so sorry. For everything. I don’t think I can ever make it right, but I’ll try, if you want."

            Taking a deep breath to steady herself, Cait simply said “Apologizing’s a good start,” and began to walk back towards the village. The crowd parted as Cait passed, and then began to follow, the whole group solemn and silent.

            Hobmoss hoped he had done the right thing.

***

            A couple week later, Cait ran towards Brookhill again, but this time because she was excited and full of happy energy. After climbing into Hobmoss’ branches she explained how things had changed since the last time they had met. All the former bullies had done their best to apologize with action as well as words, and Cait had even become quite good friends with some of them. Lindy in particular, it seemed, had a great deal more in common with Cait than Cait had ever dared to suspect. When Hobmoss asked if Cait had forgiven Lindy, Cait was quiet for a moment before saying that she had a lot of complicated feelings about it that she couldn’t really explain. Hobmoss’ response was to assure Cait that he didn’t expect her to have an answer right away, or even ever. After all, some wounds don’t heal, and some questions don’t have answers.

            Tommen, it seemed, had left The Village. He’d apparently gotten into a shouting match with this father the night of the incident, and then left the next morning. No-one was quite sure where he’d gone. It wasn’t quite the emotional closure that Hobmoss had hoped the entire group would achieve, but it was something, at least.

            “So, do you have to go now?” Cait asked abruptly.

            “...Do I?” Hobmoss asked, unsure of what Cait meant.

            “Well, just cause, in all the old tales, when someone like you magically makes things right, they always leave so they can go help other people” Cait said, a sad quaver creeping into her voice near the end.

            “I didn’t really do all that much. I just gave you all a chance to see things from the other side. You’re the ones who really fixed the problem” Hobmoss said before adding “But I’m glad to have helped. And I suppose there are other people who might need a friend like you did.”

            Stretching out, Hobmoss gently lifted Cait out of his branches and placed her on the ground. Looking down at Cait’s face, Hobmoss could now see the tears it was streaked with. Kneeling down, the treefolk used a single finger to wipe away one of Cait’s tears before saying “You know, I was pretty lonely, before we met. I think you’ve helped me as much as I’ve helped you.”

            “You-you do?” Cait said between sobs.

            “Yes, I do, and I’m glad to have you as a friend” Hobmoss said, gently enfolding Cait in the strangest hug she’d ever experienced. Then, standing up, he smiled a gnarled smile and said “And don’t worry, there’s nothing that says I can’t come back” before he summoned up the memory of how he’d come to this strange place. He remembered that odd space with no up or down, full of stars on a backdrop of strange twilight. He realized he didn’t actually know how to get back there, so out of instinct he reached out as if to bring that space into a chorus and-

            He was falling again. But this time the feeling was familiar, and he was no longer sad about being pruned from the Chorus of the Grove. He’d been right to question the unity of the Chorus, he decided. If his experience with Cait had taught him anything, it was that everyone was different, and that was okay. Everyone being different meant everyone had something special and unique to share. A single melody could always be improved with the right harmony.

            Besides, if he’d stayed with the Chorus, he’d have never met Cait.

            Gazing out at the countless stars in that place between places, Hobmoss wondered how many more great friends he’d make, how many unique stories he’d hear told, how many special voices he’d learn to sing along with. Perhaps most of all, he wondered how much Cait would have grown and changed when he next saw her.

            A smile on his face, Hobmoss reached out toward the next star on the horizon.

 


End file.
